


Wanna Do Real Bad Things With You

by CantSpeakFae



Series: True Buffy [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), True Blood
Genre: Also Buffy is like 35 in this, Alternate Universe, But mostly angst, Copious amounts of smut, Eric is a shithead, Every other interaction honestly, F/M, Fluff in some spots, Just prepare thineselves for maximum sexy times, Pam hates Buffy, Rarepair, This wasn't ever supposed to be a ship but it's gotten way out of hand, Vampires never came out of the coffin, Willow is adorable and trying to be supportive of Buffy's extreme choices, Xander is a Watcher but blink and you'll miss it, the crossover that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-04 07:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15836478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: 「Major AU Fic!」Buffy's come a long way since the fall of Sunnydale and, with two decades of Slaying under her belt, she thinks the world is out of surprises for her. Of course, the universe takes that as a challenge and delivers unto her: Eric Northman. The most frustrating and interesting vampire that she's ever met.Eric isn't like the undead she's used to. He's suave, he's cunning, and he doesn't have a bumpy forehead. But, like every other relationship she's ever been in, it's a repeat of fatal attraction and their love story already has a body count and some organization called "The Authority" tracking their every move.Why can't she ever have the hots for a normal guy?





	1. A Teensy Bit of Demon Would Be a Great Band Name

“I was gonna complain about being bored, but then remembered that the last time I said that, a gross slime demon with freaky anatomy attacked a hospital and had plenty of entertainment trying to _fight_ that thing and solemnly swore that I’d never complain about being bored again.”

Despite being dressed for stealth-mode patrol, Buffy’s anything _but_ stealthy where she’s perched on top of a statue, speaking to her voice-to-text mode on her phone because it’s too hard to type through the thick, wool gloves she’d donned for her last-minute sweep of the nearest graveyard. She reviews the text, making sure that the little robot in her phone didn’t mishear and send something weird - that happens too many times for this to possibly be a useful app - and then hits send, snapping her gum and waiting for Willow’s inevitably quick response. There’s been no action in the graveyard all night. There rarely is with as often as Faith has the ‘ettes sweeping the nearest haunts. They’re dusting ‘em faster than they can rise and Buffy’s finally getting all of that downtime she’d spent most of her life begging for.

And she’s never been more miserable. She’d been itching for a good fight. Something to break up the monotony.

Well, if wishes were horses… she’d have some neat pets.

“If you're looking for entertainment, I'm more than happy to provide.”

_...Either that’s Mr. Ed or she has company._

Buffy twists on the statue, hastily stowing her phone in her pocket and craning her head to get a better look at who had just called out to her. There’s someone standing on the edge of the shadows cast by the trees, peering up at her with a keen interest. Definitely not human. What sane human hangs out in a graveyard at this time of night? Besides her, obviously.

“...And you are?” She asks, not budging from her statue yet.

“The most handsome bastard you've ever seen? I get that a lot.” He said, smoothly, inclining his head to her and shamelessly looking her over. Well, what he could _see_ anyway.

_Yep. Definitely something evil._

Buffy lithely jumped off of the statue, then, landing gracefully on her feet. She arches an eyebrow at the size of the guy's ego, but her lips curl in a slight smile despite herself.  
  
“I'm sure that's not all you get...I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers.”

_Might as well make with the formalities, right?_

“Buffy,” He repeats her name, languidly rolling it off of his tongue. “I like the way that sounds. But then, I'm sure there are lots of sounds you could make that I like.”

“And lots of sounds you might not like, too. I'm very versatile...uh, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?” 

She crosses her arms and tosses her hair back, over her shoulder, mixed messaging at best. She should just walk away, but there was something...interesting about him. He doesn’t give her the strange crampy feeling most vampires do.

“I didn't give it.” His grin shows all of his teeth and it’s almost sinister. “Say please, and I might.”

Buffy just shrugs and rolls her eyes, having just topped out her ego-tolerance quota for the day.  
  
“Whatever. If I wanted to play games, I'd have brought a travel Parcheesi board. Nice to have not met you.”  
  
She smiles dismissively and turns to walk away. Not fast enough, because he spoke before she could fully start stomping off. Obviously baited by her cool indifference. Men. They’re all the same, evil or not.

“Now, don't be like that.”

He still hasn’t moved. And he’s still smiling.  
  
“Consider me properly chastised. You can call me Eric.”

“Was that so hard?” She turns around with a smile...that slowly fades from her features as she really looks at the person before her. “You...you're not human, are you?”

“J'accuse!” Eric says, pressing a hand over his heart as though deeply offended by her accusation. It's not an act he can keep up for long, however. At least, not with a solemn expression. “Is this how you always make new friends, Buffy?”

“Job hazard. Happens when your working title is "Vampire Slayer, comma, The."”  
  
Buffy steps closer, scrutinizing the...Eric. He’s super pale, but again, there’s no vague crampy feeling. But she’s just shown her hand, now time for him to show his. Because this is weird. She doesn’t like weird.

“Vampire Slayer, huh? You're one to talk about people not being human.”  
  
His stern expression breaks and a wide grin takes its place...this time, complete with fangs. They glint in the moonlight but he doesn't step toward her, like the last thing he needs is a stake to ruin his shirt.

“I am so human!”  
  
Her eyes flash and she just manages to refrain from stomping her foot like a kid, too aggravated by his insinuation to even realize what she’s seeing.  
  
“I am human!...with only a teensy bit of demon.”

Eric could tell her that it's enough to make her blood smell different, sweet enough for him to want to ravage her where she stands, but seeing as she's probably equipped with a stake he holds his tongue.  
  
“I know the lore, Buffy. Your history is closely intertwined with mine.”

“What do you mean "with yours?"” She looks closer, and can definitely see a flash of fang...but his face… “Wait. Why aren’t you bumpy?”  
  
“...Bumpy?” Eric asks, caught off guard and distracted from any explanation he might have tried to give her about their shared lore.

“Yeah, you know…”  
  
Buffy makes a “grr” face.  
  
“Bumpy…”  
  
She impulsively reaches out and lightly touches his smooth, pale forehead with her fingertips. His skin has a familiar coolness, but none of the texture she's long associated with fangyness.  
  
“You...you are a vampire, right?”

Eric's movement is too fast to be detected, even by her eyes, and the moment that she brushes her warm fingertips against his face one of his arms snakes around her waist and pulls her close to him. He grins widely at her question, his fangs standing out in sharper relief as he looks down at her.  
  
"I am."  
  
He says, squeezing her a little. Not enough to hurt her, but just enough to enjoy that he has a hold on her. He can feel her heart thumping in her chest...can smell the sweet fragrance of her blood and feel her breasts pressed against his chest.  
  
“And if you wanted to get your hands on me, Slayer, all you had to do was say so.”

She gasps in surprise when he grabs her, holding her firmly against his body. She grows very still, hyper-aware of her own body in proximity to his, simultaneously calculating what force she'd need to break free and realizing how long it's been since she'd been held like this. She should at the least step back, if not go full-out slayer on his ass, what with her being a Slayer and him a vampire and all...but for all the air of danger surrounding him - and she can totally sense his heavy-duty vamp mojo, like a peculiar itchy feeling just behind her molars - her Spidey-senses just aren't tingling.  
  
Not that she's not tingling several other places.  
  
She shifts slightly, just to see if he'll let her move.  
  
“I...I didn't mean to... I mean, I was just...your face is...not...um...bumpy.”  
  
Eric tilts his face toward hers, leaving only a hair's width of space between the two of them. He studies her expression, watching her struggle internally with her predicament. Familiar emotions flit through her green eyes: surprise, anger, confusion and, of course, _lust_ . By the time that Buffy finally schools her expression and shifts to see if she's really trapped, Eric's already decided that he'd really, really like to see more of her.  
  
That being said, he's not a fool enough to try and cage her before she's acknowledged that she wants him to. It's not nearly as fun to fuck a Slayer when you're dust during it. So, he loosens his grip...but doesn't quite let go. If she wants to be free, she'll have to step the rest of the way away from him.  
  
“That's a bit racist, Slayer. Assuming that all vampires look the same.”

“It's not racist. It's speciest.”  
  
She feels his arm slacken slightly, but she doesn't step away. She should, good Goddess, she knows she should...she just...really doesn't wanna.  
  
“It's just in twenty years of Slaying, I've never seen a vampire like you.”

“Was that a pickup line? I like it.”  
  
Eric smiles triumphantly when Buffy doesn't make the first move to get away from him. Not that he'd ever _think_ of trying to glamour a Slayer - he'd heard that lead to unsavory results - but it was still interesting to know that she could be so interested in not killing him even without any added influence on his part. He's tempted to see just how far this Slayer would bend.  
  
“Well, whether you mean to make me feel like a special vampire or not, it's needless to say that I am not the only one like me. If you've never seen one of us, then it's because we're much, much smarter than our less evolved cousins. Better looking, too, but I'm sure you can see that.”

“And way more modest…”  
  
Her wry smile matches the tone of her voice, the sarcasm pulling her back to her senses.  She delicately removes herself from his embrace and self-consciously pulls the hem of her sweater further down over her hips.  
  
“Are there a lot more like you?”

“Yes.”  
  
His response betrays nothing of his disappointment in her stepping away, and his self-assured smile never fades.  
  
“I wasn't being egocentric when I said we're smarter...well, not very, anyway. Unlike our deformed cousins, we don't try to end the world every other week. It keeps us off of your radar, I suppose.”  
  
He trails his gaze down her body, his grin wolfish.  
  
“And you'll never hear of a human complaining about our bite.”

Buffy’s hand rises in a subconscious gesture, and her fingertips graze over the bite scars on her neck that even her extraordinary Slayer healing never completely erased.  
  
“I know that last part isn't true. Being bitten hurts.” She argued, hotly. “ _A lot._ ”

“I'm sure it does when the creature who's fangs-deep into your throat has two main goals in life. Goal one: Kill all humans. Goal two: Destroy the very planet it inhabits.”  
  
He holds up two fingers and lowers them as he ticks off the main points. He's not paying attention to his own hands, though. He's watching _hers_ as her fingertips graze easily identifiable scars.

“They're not exactly trying to make it good for you, are they? Which is a fucking shame. If I had the chance to nip at a Slayer's throat, I'd make sure she couldn't walk the next day. And not from blood loss, if you're wondering.”

Buffy realizes where he's staring, and shakes her head, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulder, effectively hiding her scars behind a golden curtain. She fights against the blush suffusing her cheeks with hectic color and gives him a cool gaze.

“Entendres. Nice. All the cooler vampires use them.”

“If you'd prefer I speak in plainer terms…”  
  
He steps forward and leans over her. He's careful not to touch her but makes sure he's close enough that she could almost wish he would.  
  
“My bite would be the most thrilling experience of your life. It wouldn't happen in passing. Oh, no. You'd be stripped naked and writhing beneath me. Tangled up in the sheets with your eyes shut and mouth open wide in a silent scream as I fuck you with my tongue. You'd forget all your other lover's names. Hell, you might even forget your own. And when I sink my teeth into your thigh and drink from you, you'll have orgasms like you've never even dreamed of.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in...and then delivers the punchline like a killing blow.  
  
“That's not an entendre. That's a _promise_.”

Buffy tries really, really hard to keep her face neutral as he speaks, standing so close she can feel the coolness emanating from his body. Sure, she can't help how her heart starts racing, or her eye twitches,  or how she suddenly needs to swallow but her mouth is desert dry. But she can press her lips tightly together to hide their tiny tremor, and she can force herself to regulate her breathing - nice and steady.  
  
What she _should_ do is slap him for being so presumptuous and rude. And graphic. Oh, goddess, so very graphic.

It's just...it's just that it's been so long since she... It's not like she hasn't tried dating, but her schedule is so erratic and apocalypse-dependent, and the last few human guys she went out with were so...human. Nice. Ordinary. Boring. She couldn't imagine sleeping with any of them...hadn't even been tempted. Ok, tempted once, but he was such a bad kisser she made up an emergency and bailed.  
  
That had been...wow, a very long time ago.  
  
But a vampire? Even one as different as this guy claims to be? It's one thing to have a type, but quite another to live the cliche.  
  
Still, the images of sheet grabbing and silent screaming just would not leave her mind.  
  
Luckily, a shift in the direction of the evening's breeze brought a strange scent to her attention, and all thoughts of sweaty monkey sex got packed away for later. She shifts her eyes away from his entirely too handsome to exist face, and let her gaze drift over his shoulder. Her voice is low and very soft.  
  
“That one of your vamps...or one of mine?”

Eric runs his tongue over the tops of his teeth in exasperation, closing his eyes and counting backward from ten, quickly. He'd seen how close she'd been to taking him up on his offer. He'd seen how she swayed in his direction...how she looked up at him with a sad sort of hope in her eyes that he wasn't all talk and would actually have her believing that his face was that of God's by the time he was done fucking her.  
  
So, naturally, there was something to stand in the way of that.  
  
“I came alone. And if another presence hasn't announced itself to me, then I'd guess it's not a friend of mine.”  
  
_Or, if it_ **_was_ ** _, they no longer were now that they'd cockblocked him._

“Okey-dokey, then.”  
  
She takes a deep breath and half closes her eyes, using her hearing and slayer senses to pinpoint the direction of attack. Once locked onto her target, she opens her eyes wide and grins at Eric.  
  
“I call dibs!”  
  
She turns and launches herself into the dark, leaving Eric staring after her. Baffled.

“Dibs...?”  
  
He repeats, but Buffy is already gone and he lets out a low whistle, impressed with how fast she can move. So, tales of the Slayer's speed and strength weren't exaggerated by the few surviving vampires that ran into her. He'd had his doubts...  
  
Of course, they were all out of his mind now, driven away by the sight of her darting through like a ghost in the dark. Her long, blonde hair swishing behind her and her eyes pinpointed on a target that normal people wouldn't have ever seen coming. And, for his part, Eric stood back with arms folded over his chest and just _watched_ her in action.  
  
If he was right about her - and he was never wrong about anyone - this might give him some good insight into what kind of foreplay he can expect from her.

To Buffy, it’s a relief, kinda, to give her body free reign. To allow her instincts and reflexes take over, and to give in to that spark of darkness that dwells deep in the heart of every slayer. She surrenders to the urge to hunt...to fight...and to win.  
  
A right hook to the bumpy vampire's jaw, to get his attention.  


A powerful, round-house kick to his chest to lay him out.  


She retrieves the stake from the holster hidden at the small of her back, and swears under her breath as it's knocked out of her hand by the vampire's girlfriend Buffy steps back to reassess the sitch, and a cruel smile curls her lips.  
  
“Two on one? Finally, some odds that are interesting…”  
  
She spins to kick the furious girlfriend several steps backward, giving Buffy room to backflip towards her fallen stake. She picks it up and twists her hips as she pushes herself off the ground to land back on her feet. The momentum gained by the maneuver allows her to thrust the stake between the ribs of the boy vamp like plunging a hot knife into butter.  
  
Buffy yanks the stake back just in time to prevent it from dusting along with the vampire and turns towards the girlfriend.  
  
“I don't know you, but I'm sure you can do better than a pile of ashes. I mean, where's your self-respect?”  
  
The girlfriend grabs Buffy's hair with a growl, and pulls the slayer to the ground, scratching and clawing, to Buffy’s dismay and annoyance.  
  
“You wanna girl fight? I'll give you a girl fight!”

And Eric, who was watching the entire exchange with amusement, would never admit it out loud, but seeing how easily Buffy plunged the stake into the first vampire's chest, without even thinking about the action, sent a slight chill up his spine. But there was no time to ponder how easily she could deliver him to his final death, not when she was suddenly forsaking her perfectly timed kicks and flips for...hair pulling and clawing.  
  
He starts to step forward, wondering if it was worth risking losing an arm to get involved in the fray and end this quickly. If only he'd known this was how his night was going to go...he might have brought a camera along to record this.  
  
“Would you like some assistance?”  
  
Eric called, dryly, either not thinking that he could break Buffy's concentration or not caring that he might. If he was enough to make her slip, he didn't know, because the vampiress reacted to his voice first. She twisted against the ground to get a better look at him, immediately knowing him for what he was.  
  
"What are you just standing there for? Help me kill her!"  
  
Eric pursed his lips into a thoughtful expression, pretending to think about it.  
  
“...Well, I would, but I've already put my bet down on her. Besides, what do you have to live for? She already killed the other one.”

The female vampire opens her mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a cough of ash as she crumbles into dust, revealing a peeved-looking slayer rising to her feet.  
  
Buffy quickly secures the stake back in its holster and runs her fingers through her tangled tresses

“I guess her raisin debtor will be yet another mystery, like whoever thought stripes and paisley matched…”  
  
She pushes her hair back from her face and winces as her fingers brush against three parallel scratches running from just below her right eye to her jaw.

“I hate girl fights.”

“Really? I thought it was titillating. It's just too bad it was over before one of your shirts could be ripped off or open.”  
  
Eric closes the space between them, no longer feeling the need to give her room now that the fight is over. His cool fingers move to the claw marks on that run down her face. They're shallow, very little blood drawn to the surface, but he still has to bite his own tongue to resist leaning forward and running his tongue down their length. He might have risked it _before_ he'd seen her slay two vampires, but he's not nearly stupid enough to try after.  
  
“I think you'll live. Of course, I'm not a doctor and you never know what's underneath a vampire's nails. But, with as fast as you...hmm…”  
  
He trails off mid-sentence, caught off guard by a sudden idea.

“As fast as I hmm?”  
  
She tilts her head inquisitively. After the ripped shirt comment, the last thing she expected was...hesitation from Eric.

“I've heard that Slayers heal much faster than a breather. Is that true?”  
  
He's never had reason to see it in action, himself, but he can't help but wonder… it's true, he can already tell from the expression on her face, but that begs a different question. If was give her a sip or two of his blood, how much stronger would she be? How much faster could she heal?

“Yeeesss...we do tend to heal, ah, quickly. One of the very few job perks of facing mortal danger every night.”  
  
Her adrenalin high from the fight drops as she becomes very wary of his intentions.  She takes a few steps back and shifts her hand towards her stake holster.

“Why d’you wanna know?”

Eric doesn't miss the way that her hand moves to her stake and can't help making the half-amused, half-annoyed sound that rises up to the back of his throat.

  
“Easy. I'm just curious. It's not every day you meet a living legend. It's good to know what's been exaggerated and what's true. If I'd wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already done it?”  
  
She'd been close enough for him to consider it a few times… he'd never smelled blood like a Slayer's. It lacked the magic that made fairy blood so overwhelming but it was alluring in its own right. But his interest in her existence outweighed his interest in her neck.  
  
“I have to say, I'm almost disappointed, though. Healing on your own takes all the gallantry out of offering you my blood.”

Buffy arches an eyebrow at "living legend." Did this guy know how to spread it thick, or what?  
  
“If you wanted to hurt me, you would've _-tried-_ emphasis on try… wait,  offering me your what, now?”  
  
She whiplashes through the convo, finishing with a look of disgust across her features.

“You know, I was a little enamored with your ignorance toward my particular strain of vampirism, at first. It was comforting to know that we'd stayed off your radar...and a little cute to watch you try and keep up with the differences, but now it's taking a turn to tedious, Slayer.  
  
Eric ignores the disgust on her face. It doesn't offend him that the idea repulses her -- quite the opposite, in fact. One of the most dangerous parts of any human knowing their true nature was finding their weaknesses and using them against them. And while Eric had never been bound by silver chains and left to meet the sun with most of his blood drained from his body, he knew of those who had and never felt the urge to join their number.  
  
“There are even humans who know what a vampire's blood can do to them. Or, at least, what my kind's blood can do for them. I've never bitten one of the 'bumpy' faced ones. You can guess why I never found the thought very appealing.”

He can tell that she's not following his explanation and he's slowly starting to realize that her ignorance about him really wasn't a bizarre kind of front. She really just...doesn't know.  
  
“...Are you telling me you don't know? The enhanced strength, the effects of beauty, the lingering glamour that makes the human feel strong, confident, and untouchable? I'm a little hurt, so many of my kind have been _killed_ by breathers for our blood and the Supernatural's version of a Sheriff doesn't know about it?”

“Sheriff?” Buffy repeated, feeling less and less sure of the situation by the minute. “I don't know what kind of wild west fantasy you get your kicks from, but I'm not a Sheriff...and I'm also not a deputy. And no, I didn't know about your magic blood.”

She pauses, then sneers.

  
“Allegedly magic blood, I mean. My vampires use their blood to turn people...they suck your blood, then you suck theirs - it's a whole sucking thing.”

“Yes, that much remains true for most of us. In order to create a vampire, a human must be drained of their blood and then have it replaced by the blood of the vampire. I don't know about your _friends_ , but in our world, we then crawl into the ground with our prodigy and sleep until they rise. That's textbook and I'm glad you've read the material.”  
  
Eric cants his head, watching her expression as he speaks.  
  
“However, that's not the only reason a vampire gives blood. Our blood has proven to be quite the thrill for breathers to consume. Just one or two drops is enough to enhance their strength, senses, appetites. Makes them...insatiable.”  
  
It takes all of his self-control not to leer at her, lest she thinks he's lying to her and decide to end the conversation by plunging a stake in his heart.  
  
“It's also very good for healing. Halts the pain and quickens the process. It could mend your average human's broken bones in just a few night's time. I hear there's quite a market for our blood, it's sold for $200–$600 per 1/4-ounce, last time I looked into the market for it. Of course, being that our blood is essential to our very being, it's rare that we part with it willingly, especially to fund someone else's black market, so you can see why there being a high demand for it by breathers can be an issue for us.”

Buffy’s eyes narrow at the patronizing "reading the material" jibe, but her interest is most definitely piqued when he gets to the rapid healing part. Even with Slayer healing advantages, some of the slayers-in-training sustain injuries that take weeks to heal. That's way better than the months it would take an average person to recover, but to be able to mend a broken arm in days?  
  
Her musing is broken by the utterly insane street value, and then the utter ghoulishness of the idea makes her shudder...  
  
...But not as much as it would have a few dozen apocalypses ago.  
  
Still, she doesn't even know if what Eric's saying is true. Just because he's a major hottie with incredible magnetism doesn't make him Mr Truth.  
  
She blinks up at him a few times as she sorts through all these jumbled thoughts.

“I...um, I'm not sure what to say...about, um, all that.”

“Well, if you're interested…”  
  
Eric holds out his wrist, to her, clearly inviting her to take a bite… and only half in jest. If she were to take him up on the offer, he certainly wouldn't move away. He'd never heard of a Slayer taking blood from a Vampire, before, and being the first to accomplish such a feat...well, that'd be an interesting contribution to his resume.

Buffy’s eyes widen at the gesture, and she tries to keep the cavalcade of reactions off of her face. Surprise, intrigue, disgust, suspicion, attraction, curiosity, and a weird blend of nausea and arousal that she'd happily never experience again all make an appearance. Finally, she takes his wrist and gently pushes it away. She looks up to give him a rejection-softening smile.  
  
“I have a pretty hard and fast rule against biting on a first date.”

“Date?”  
  
Eric repeats, withdrawing his hand. There's nothing in his tone or expression that betrays his disappointment in her rejection, but he is a little miffed. He's never been around a human who knew what he was and denied a chance to taste his blood.  
  
Of course, Buffy wasn't the average breather, was she?  
  
“You should have told me. I would have worn a nicer shirt.”

Buffy’s smile widens into a grin.  
  
“Luckily, this isn't a date...but it would be if you change your shirt and pick me up at 7. You could show me some of these superior vampires of yours, and convince me not to slay them. Might even be fun.”

_Or a big, big mistake...but the evening has gone straight to her head and she’s too intrigued to let it end._

“...All right. Just one condition.” He steps a little closer, his grin mirroring hers, as he leans in near enough to kiss her...but stops just short of doing so and speaking slowly so that she'll hang onto his every word. “Try not to look so fucking delicious when I come to get you. I only have so much self-restraint. And I have a feeling that you'd be worth getting staked over.”

  
He steps back before she can fully understand what he's just said, clapping his hands together with approval.  
  
“It's a date. Wear something black.”  
  
With a wink, he suddenly springs upward and shoots off into the sky like a bottle rocket, hovering a good twenty feet above her.  
  
“See you then, Buffy.”

Her eyes, which had rolled back into her head for some reason, widen in shock as he takes to the sky.  
  
He can...he can fly. 

_Of course, he can fly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic is based on a Twitter RP between my girlfriend and I. All of Buffy's dialogue and internal commentary is of her own design, while Eric is mine. 
> 
> ***It's important to mention that vampires never came out of the coffin in this 'verse. I know I said it in the tags, but not everyone reads those.


	2. A Ninja Convention Would Be A Great Band Name

By 6:45, Buffy has tried on all the clothes in her closet...and Willow's...and Dawn's...and even one of the slayers-in-training's closets, before coming back to and settling on the first outfit she tried on.    
  
She finishes applying her lipstick and steps back to scrutinize her appearance yet again.    
  
The black leather trousers hug her curves before flaring out into a boot-cut leg wide enough for her to easily retrieve the stakes hidden in the ankle holsters of her mid-heel boots. A flash of pale midriff is visible when her black cowl-neck sweater rises as she fixes a pin holding her golden hair up in a twist and off of her neck A thin, leather cord necklace finishes off the look, a blend of understated elegance and ninja/cat burglar.   
  
She considers changing -again- into a red sweater, but the vampire did say "wear black."   
  
She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders.   
  
“Why am I so nervous?” 

 

***

 

Buffy's shock at the sight of him taking to the sky lifted his spirits higher than his body and kept a grin on his face for the few hours that they were apart, rousing suspicion from Pam, who he was sharing a hotel room with, but he made no attempt to relay any details of his night with her. As many things as he did share with his prodigy, this...well, this was just for him. At least for the while. He had no illusions about how long he'd be able to keep this to himself. Especially since Pam would, undoubtedly, be at Fangtasia 2 tonight. Teaching the chosen manager how to run things and likely threatening every fang-banger within an inch of their lives. The secret to the club's success was the secret itself. The mystery. The intrigue. The unanswered question as to whether or not the sublime creatures that put themselves on display were really what they claimed to be.

  
Pam was good at that sort of thing. He trusted her to handle the paperwork while he entertained. And he had a feeling she had a few ideas about what had put him in such a good mood. Especially when she saw him going through shirt after shirt that he had brought with him during this little 'business' trip to London looking for just the right piece. He settled on something black, after a near hour of deliberation. Silk with long sleeves. Perfect for the image of the club.   
  
"You'll be there, tonight, won't you? We can't have a grand opening without you."   
  
Pam called to him as he made his way to the door, reflexively checking his watch for the third time in the last two minutes. He had plenty of time to get there. Even if he was going by car.   
  
“I'll be there.” He promised, with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at his prodigy, flashing a wide smile. “Hopefully not all night, but I'll make an appearance.”   
  
Pam made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a snort of derision, but she wisely only nodded and asked no more questions of him, giving him leeway to slip from the room and head to the lobby, where he called sweetly to the dazed girl behind the desk to request that the valet bring his car to the front.    
  
With any luck, he'd be at the Slayer's residence with five minutes left to spare. Now, all that was left to do was hope that she followed his instruction and actually wore black.

 

***

 

Buffy slips out the Council door just before seven. Better to be outside and be perceived as a little eager than to have to explain about the wards to the vampire, and about the vampire to the girls. She checks the pockets of her black leather jacket for her keys and the pockets of her trousers for her ID, cash, and a mini bottle of holy water before pulling the heavy, carved wooden door closed and descending the few stone steps to the sidewalk.

“Slayer.”   
  
Eric's voice breaks the quiet of the night, his greeting the only warning of his arrival as he stepped into view from around the corner and strolled over to her at an easy pace. He gestures to himself, as he gets closer, highlighting his change of clothes and even doing a little spin before he's actually in front of her, just to show it off.   
  
“New shirt. See? It's not as nice as what you're wearing, but it's date-worthy, yes?”   
  
He glances up at the building that looms behind her and lets out a low whistle. He can't  _ see _ what's stopping him from getting much closer than this, but he can feel the hum of magic and it puts his fangs on edge. It figured that the Slayer would be consorting with witches...well, he'd just have to avoid pissing her off, lest he wakes up tomorrow as a toad.   
  
“I parked a little ways away -- I hope you don't mind? I just wasn't sure if there was anyone you didn't want to see us together. Protective father figure, a brother who recently got out of prison, a husband who's been directed to watch the kids while you go out on a 'girls night'. Something like that.”   
  
That last part was  _ mostly _ a joke, but Eric still glances at her hand and is satisfied to see that she wears no ring. Not that it would matter much to him. 

Buffy’s heart skips a beat when Eric appears in the darkness, but it's so not from being startled. The vampire looks...really, really good. She wants nothing more than to soothe the itch in her hands by running them down the silky front of his shirt and feeling the coolness of his skin through the fabric.   
  
A deep breath steadies her, and she grins as he pirouettes for her appraisal.   
  
“Yes to the first, sort of to the second, and dear goddess no to the last...so thank you for the discretion.”   
  
She steps closer, the tingling in her belly intensifying the nearer to him she gets.   
  
“So, where are you taking me? A ninja convention?”

“It's a surprise.” Eric shakes his head at her guess and offers no further information, simply holding out his hand for her to take. “No hints, so don't ask. But don't worry, you're dressed perfectly for the evening.”

“At least I can rule out P. Diddy's white party…” She reaches out and takes his hand, and tries to ignore the spark that zips down her spine. “Lead on, Eric of the Mysterious Destination.”

“You know, if the slaying of my kind doesn't end up working out, you could always work as a comedian.”   
  
Eric's rental, as promised, is parked just around the corner. He leads her to it, still chuckling at his own wit, and walks around the other side to open the door for her.   
  
“You really should relax, Buffy. I doubt there's any situation you're not prepared for, with all those weapons hidden on your body.”

“Only the Spanish Inquisition, but nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition…” 

She smiles wryly at the mention of her personal arsenal and gracefully takes her seat in the car while Eric rolls his eyes at her reference but lightly shuts the door once she's situated herself, and speeds over to the other side of the car in a flash, climbing in and shutting the door.    
  
“Buckle up.”   
  
He turns the key in the ignition and speeds away from the curb, making an abrupt U-turn.   
  
“It's not a long ride, but I like to drive fast and I'd hate to be the first vampire to kill a Slayer in a car crash. Not much of a legacy, if you ask me.”

Buffy barely manages to click the buckle closed before she's hurled against the door as the car careens from the curb and into oncoming traffic. She grabs onto the door handle with a white-knuckled grip and has a sudden memory of her mom hanging on to the door in >the very same way while she was teaching Buffy to drive. The memory is bittersweet, and just distracting enough that she barely notices the outraged honking from other drivers as he cuts through a roundabout.

“Maybe not much of a legacy, but me coming back to haunt your ass forever would be beyond epic. So...yes with the not crashing, please.” She turns in her seat slightly to look at him, his profile illuminated by the dashboard lights. “Do you always try to kill your first dates?”

“I very rarely kill anyone.”   
  
Eric's tone is surprisingly cheerful for someone who's driving as though he's trying to shake the devil himself, and he turns his head to grin at her, easily weaving through traffic as though there was no one else on the road.    
  
“I find it's harder to maintain a low profile when you're constantly leaving a trail of bodies in your wake...don't look so nervous, Slayer. I've never wrecked a car before.”   
  
Still, despite all the confidence he has in himself, he does slow the car down just a fraction, if only to see if she'll stop digging her nails into the door handle. A gesture that she can feel. The infinitesimal drop in speed is a relief, and as a gesture of appreciation, loosens her grip from "white knuckle" status to mere "holding on for dear life”.   
  
“There's a first time for everything, though, right?”

“You trusted me enough to get into the car.”   
  
Eric reminds her with a leering grin, amused by her little saying. "There's a first time for everything", hm? He just might have to parrot that back to her at some point in the evening. He's certain he'll find the right moment.}    
  
“We're almost there. Try to keep from ripping anything apart? This is a rental.”   
  
He pats the dashboard with one hand, using the other to make a sharp turn...well, a sharper turn than necessary, mostly to make the Slayer's heart beat a little faster. She might have a rule about biting on the first date, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the scent of adrenaline and the pounding of her heart, does it?   
  
“There, see?”   
  
He points ahead at a small building in the distance, a glaring neon sign advertising it. (That earns a grimace from him. Tacky, tacky. He'd have to get rid of that before returning back home. Subtly was a language that the contractors didn't seem to be fluent in.)   
  
“That's our destination, there. And we've arrived entirely unscathed. You really should have trusted me a little bit more.”

“If I survive tonight, I'm gonna get my head examined to find out why I trusted you at all, let alone even more…”   
  
She flashes him a wry smile to soften the bite of her words, pun intended, always, and looks at the building they're (way too) rapidly approaching. 

“...Funtia? Fangtisa? Wait...Fangtasia? You're taking me to Fangtasia? Isn't that some goth bar chain place?” She twists in her seat to look at him. “I mean, hello, cliché…”

“Don't look so disappointed. Fangtasia holds a great many surprises...I think you'll have a good time, tonight. Besides, I happen to know the man who owns the chain.”   
  
Eric's tone is light as he whips into the parking lot and pulls up to a reserved spot, bringing the car to a full stop with ease and glancing over at the Slayer, who is still clinging to the door like it might be the only thing to save her.   
  
“You can relax, now. The car has stopped.” 

Buffy waits another moment, to be safe, before prying her hand from the door handle.   
  
“So, who's the big-shot owner of this di-”   
  
She looks up and sees the sign they're parked in front of.  **Reserved for Owner.** ****  
  
“-ay yi yi.”

Eric is already out of the car and at her side by the time that she's looked up to read the sign in front of his parking space, pulling open the door for her and holding his hand out for her to take.   
  
“Something wrong, Buffy?”   
  
While his expression is politely bland, his tone oozes amusement at her surprise. But, then, who  _ wouldn't _ be amused to find that the Slayer, of all people, had no idea that rising stars of chain-clubs was owned and operated by vampires?   
  
“You  _ did _ say you wanted to see more of my kind. Well, it so happens that Fangtasia is one of the best places to do that.”

“I sure did, didn't I…” She grins up at him as she takes his hand. “Maybe next time, I'll say I want a million dollars and to be Jennifer Garner's BFF.”   
  
Buffy rises from the car, smoothes out her trousers, and scans the parking lot, more out of habit born of years and years of constant vigilance than conscious intent. She spots a shadow in the far north corner of the parking lot, almost hidden in the darkness caused by the tall trees planted around the property for privacy.   
  
“Say...what's your policy on biting in the parking lot?”

“I can assure you, Fangtasia operates at the highest level of discretion. Biting is allowed...so long as it doesn't happen in plain view of the more unsuspecting patrons and as long as it's done between two, consenting adults. You have no reason to fear any danger, here. There are very few who would be so foolish as to risk breaking one of  _ my _ rules.”   
  
Eric shoots a suspicious glance in the direction that she's looking, but smells no fresh blood.   
  
“Relax, Buffy. This is our date, remember? You're not on the job, Slayer.”

Buffy has a stake half out of her back sheath, and teeters indecisively between running across the parking lot and just going into the club. She stands silent for a long moment before slipping the stake back into the sheath and straightening her jacket.

“But that's the thing, Eric.”   
  
She gives him a sad smile, her eyes reflecting every kill, every apocalypse averted, every loved one lost.   
  
“I'm  _ always  _ on the job.”

Eric hesitates before he answers.    
  
Part of him wants to tell her that won't be the case tonight...but when he looks back at her, he reconsiders. He sees war in her eyes, evident even in the darkness of the parking lot, and that's an expression he knows well. No matter how many years pass since he took his last breath as a mortal man, the battles never left.   
  
So, instead, he wraps his arm around her shoulders in a casual gesture and smiles as cockily as he can.   
  
“Keep it in your pants, Slayer. We might be more civilized...but fear is a visceral reaction, beyond reason, and I'd hate to have to kill half my staff to keep you from having a bad time. Now, shall we go inside?”

Buffy’s startled out of her somber mood by both his casual embrace and his irreverent comment, and doesn't even try to suppress the giggle and grin he brings out from her so easily. She should be bothered by his insouciant air, especially knowing what he is, but there's something so charming about him, so...   


She stops thinking before she makes herself blush and leans into his side just a little as she nods.   
  
“I'll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“Excellent. My staff will be relieved to hear that I won't be killing them all, tonight, then.”   
  
He leaves it up to her to guess whether or not he's being serious, schooling his expression to give nothing away, and starts to lead her closer to the building. The music gets louder as he pulls open the door, but it's not so much that conversation would be difficult. And though the beat is just right for dancing, there are no bodies in the middle of the dance floor. They're all crowded around the stage, where a pale woman sits in an ornate chair, looking incredibly bored with all the mortals that are crowding in close to get a better look at her.

“That's Pam.” Eric says, nodding his head in her direction. “She helps me run the original Fangtasia and graciously agreed to come and help me make sure that the launching of Fangtasia, here, would go smoothly.”   
  
Well, graciously agreed is a bit of a stretch. Though Pam would have never turned down an offer to travel with him, it also wasn't like she had much of a choice.   
  
“Right now, she's demonstrating to the new staff how, exactly, to behave during open hours. Part of the allure of Fangtasia is the presence of real vampires...even if breathers aren’t fully aware of what they’re looking at.”

“Wait, like a vampire...zoo?”   
  
Buffy turns from staring at the incredibly beautiful woman radiating boredom on the stage to stare at the incredibly beautiful man radiating inscrutability standing right beside her.   
  
The club is kinda what she was expecting: black and blood-red color scheme, goth decor, busy bar with hyper-attractive bartenders mixing what she can only assume are vastly overpriced drinks, and really loud, generic club music. All the boxes on her bingo card, neatly checked off.   
  
Her body unconsciously moves to the demanding "ungh tss, ungh tss, ungh tss, ungh ungh ungh tss, ungh tss, ungh tss" of the music as she studies the crowd of breathers - people! Not breathers! - gathered at the foot of the stage and clustered around the high tables scattered around the perimeter of the empty dance floor.   
  
They seem to be mostly tourists, a lot of Americans, as she can tell from their lack of style and open gawking at the few vampires - distinguishable by their preternatural beauty and stillness - positioned around the room. She spots some locals, people she recognizes from her nights of patrolling the bars and clubs, and even a demon or two she recognizes from the kitten poker ring she broke up last month.   
  
It's a pretty standard mix, as far as she can tell, the main difference being the lack of dancing.   
  
“I've never been to a Vamp Zoo, before…”

“Not quite a zoo,” Eric corrects her, quietly, one of his hands sliding down to rest against her hips. He shoots a baleful glare at a passing demon who had been giving Buffy a meaningful look. “I don't put my employees in cages… and you'll note that we don't actively discourage feeding the animals.”   
  
He grins, then, coloured lights glinting off of his teeth and his expression relaxes again as the demon slips by without making any attempt to get too close to the Slayer. Even with as...new as Eric is to the area, his reputation precedes him.   
  
“I'll introduce you to Pam, later.”   
  
He nods his head to the beautiful woman on the stage. The woman in question sharply turned her head in Eric's direction at the sound of her name, audible to her ears even over the music. Her nostrils flare as she looks to the woman in Eric's company, but otherwise has no outward reaction to the presence of the Slayer.    
  
Eric shoots her a sharp look, anyway. A silent warning. 

“...But, for now, how about a drink?”

Buffy barely suppresses a shiver as Eric's hand slips from her waist to her hip, but she's distracted by the familiar-looking demon.    
  
She's about to say hello and pointedly ask about his kittens, when the demon's several eyes shift from Buffy's face to Eric's. The demon abruptly veers away, making a wide circle around the Vamp and Slayer, and disappears into the crowd.   
  
Buffy's forehead wrinkles ever so slightly as she turns her head to study her date, and she catches him giving the hot, blonde vampire on stage a meaningful stare. Hm.   
  
She quickly smiles as he mentions he'll introduce her to Pam later, and nods at the offer of a drink, but her mind is racing at a million miles an hour, trying to figure this scene out. 

Where is Giles and her crack research team when she needs them?  

Oh yeah, at home, unaware that she's gone out to a Vampire bar with it's apparently way-more-powerful-in-every-sense-of-the-word-than-she-realized owner.    
  
_ Good choices, Buffy. _   
  
“Um, yeah, a white wine, please. That'd be helpful. I mean, good. Thanks.”

“As you wish. My private booth is over there. Why don't you take a seat while I fetch the drinks, hm?”   
  
Eric gestures to the left, a little ways from the stage, where a booth sits in the near thick of the action. There's a group of scantily clad girls hovering nearby, trying to look nonchalant about the way they seem to be waiting for the famed "Owner" of the new club.   
  
Nearby, a short vampire with slicked back hair seemed to be eyeing them, trying to decide which one he wanted to strike up a "conversation" with. Eric sees this and lowers his voice.   
  
“And remember what I said about keeping it in your pants, Slayer.”

“Weirdest first date ever…”   
  
She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath as she walks away, knowing that he could hear her, even over the noise of the club.   
  
She saunters over to Eric's booth, casually flashing a smile and a glimpse of stake at the DeBargey looking vampire ogling the nymphettes. She slides into the booth and sighs as it's high sides muffle a little bit of the noise.    
  
She turns her head to see one of the girl gaggle throwing a dirty look her way. Buffy arches one eyebrow and stares until the woman grows visibly agitated and turns back to her friends.   
  
Buffy sighs again as she taps her fingernails against the smooth, black tabletop. Between the constant din and the desperation of the hook-up scene, she realizes she'd much rather be patrolling a nice graveyard right about now, and winces at how that reflects on her.   
  
“My god, when did I get so...old?”

Buffy had hardly settled into the Booth before Eric appeared, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He flashes her a smile before he settles in, on the opposite side of her, and sets their drinks on the table.   
  
“You seem disappointed.”   
  
He comments, noting the disgruntled expression on her face. As light as he tries to make his tone, however, he can't help but feel slightly offended. After all, Fangtasia was his livelihood. And no matter what Buffy might think of the cheesy decor, the customers, or the presence of vampires...Fangtasia was exactly what was advertised. No more and no less. What was wrong with profiting on intrigue?   
  
“If you were hoping for more action, I'm afraid you'll stay disappointed. Europeans fancy themselves less gullible than Americans and it'll take more time for the club to take off in a place like this.”   
  
He opens the bottle of wine, then, and pours her a generous glass.   
  
“You are, of course, always welcome to the original location in Louisiana. Should you ever happen to be passing by.”

Buffy blushes, thoroughly chagrined at her own ill manners, and gratefully accepts the wine glass.*   
  
“No, I'm sorry, it's not that at all... I mean, this place…”   
  
She gestures with her free hand at the lights, the beats, the crowd, the everything.   
  
“Ten, fifteen years ago, I would've been all over this scene, and not all for professional reasons, either, I swear. I guess...I may be a little too old for the cool clubs anymore. But that's so not a big.”   
  
She raises her glass.   
  
“What should we toast to?”

“You're never too old to enjoy the moment, Slayer.”

Eric argues as he lifts his own glass, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was always funny to listen to the breathers complain of age. They'd count each year and mourn as though they were already dead. If only he could make them understand what a precious gift they actually have...

“Over a thousand years I've walked this Earth, and there are few things that I feel that I am now "too old" to enjoy.”   
  
Of course, half of his attraction to the concept of Fangtasia stems less from his undying love for clubbing, in general, and speaks more to his want for a business that was expected to run outside of the sun's reach. But that's a point he feels that he can neglect to mention.   
  
“In fact, I believe that's worth toasting to. What do you think, Buffy? To living in the moment?”

Buffy’s eyes widen.   
  
“A...thousand years? A  _ Thousand _ /?”

_ Oh, boy. That’s a lot. _   
  
“I, um...yeah, I guess I can manage to be more in the now…” She deliberately resets her attitude and smiles as she clicks her glass to his. “To living in the moment.”   
  
She takes a large swallow and enjoys the cold, crisp sweetness of the wine.   
  
“Can I ask a personal question?”

“You can.” Eric says, after a sip of his own wine. He almost looks mournfully to the bar, where the stock of blood is kept...but it's wise not to push her too hard on their first date. “But I can't guarantee an answer.”

“Fair.”   
  
She tries to word it delicately, but takes another generous sip of wine and figures, the hell with it.   
  
“How are you over a thousand years old and still a hottie? I mean, shouldn't you have, like, claws and some serious deformity?”

That wasn't the question that Eric was expecting.   
  
He had a hunch that she'd be curious about his age, but he had, wrongly, assumed that she'd want to know when he was changed or what one did with a thousand years of life. He had to stop assuming he knew anything about this girl's thought process...   
  
“I'm sorry?”   
  
He says, as politely as he can manage. He's too surprised by her question to even puff out his chest with pride in her compliment of his appearance.   
  
“Claws? Deformity? Is that something that happens among the species that  _ you _ know?”   
  
Truth be told, he's never met a vampire much more than a few hundred years old among his 'cousins'. They were always so slow, they never  _ did _ last long.   
  
“Well, it's not like that for us. As my kind ages, they become more powerful. Stronger, faster, better at compulsion. The older you are, the more feared you are.”

Buffy’s fingers brush lightly over the 20-year-old scar on her neck, a wound that never quite completely healed, even despite death and resurrection of the witchy kind.   
  
“Yeah, well, that's true of the vampires I know, the getting stronger and more powerful thing? But the oldest vampire I ever met was, um...well, with the claws, and fruit punch mouth, and way with the ugly…”   
  
She grimaces at the-less-than-fond memory before moving on.   
  
“I knew a few in the few-hundred years age range, and there was Dracula, oh, and of course the Immortal…” She blushes and smiles at the way-more-than-fond memory before moving on. “But the vast majority of the vamps I slay are pretty young and usually very dumb.”

“Fledgling vampires have no want for anything beyond their own thirst. They're consumed by it. Driven mad and blind. From the moment they emerge from the ground, the scent of human life drives them mad. I still remember those days, very well.”

Eric trails off, lost in thought for a moment.   
  
“...I can't imagine how those poor fools feel when they rise and find a young woman sitting nearby, rather than their sire to guide them. It's a bit of a vampire horror story, really.”

Eric's eyes flick to the stage. Pam is no longer there.   
  
“I wouldn't know how it is among the others of my...species, but a vampire's sire is the most important person in all their existence in the beginning.”

Buffy shrugs, a wordless apology for her ignorance.   
  
“I dunno much about the sire/newbie relationship, but for some reason, the vamps I fight all seem to come out of the grave knowing some kind of martial art. Why is that, d'ya think?”   
  
She twists in her seat to follow his gaze, and turns back, her expression questioning.   
  
“Where's Pam?”

“Instinct, mostly. Enhanced abilities and the ego of death, I suppose. We’re strong when we first rise from the ground. It feels like we can do anything, in those first few minutes...of course, then we realize we have no idea what we’re doing. I suppose, with the ones that find you, they don’t have much time to panic. But, for my kind, it’s difficult to find your footing without your maker there to guide you.” 

He shrugs. It’s the best answer he can give to her first question. The second is easier. 

“As for Pam...well, I suppose she’s on her way over here to meet you. She doesn’t like the stage or the clothes she has to wear. And you’ve peaked her curiosity. I don’t bring very many people in for drinks.”

  
Buffy snort-laughs at his last remark...until she realizes he's serious.   
  
“Wait, really?”

“You're surprised? Buffy...dating is really more of a human concept. It's almost funny, isn't? Breathers have such a finite existence. It can end at any moment, be ripped away from you by something as small as an infected paper cut, and yet you still choose to waste precious seconds just  _ hovering _ around each other, trying to decide if you'll ever really like each other enough to fuck.”   
  
Eric's practically purrs the word 'fuck', just to see if he can make the Slayer shiver. Or blush.   
  
“Vampires handle matters a bit differently. After a thousand years of life, you know when you're going to get along with someone and when you're not. And when you do? Well, there's not any small-talk.”

Pam slides into the booth beside Eric, her pleather catsuit not daring to squeak against the leather banquette.

  
“I hate small-talk. Who's this, Eric? I thought you were done with blonde humans?”

“Pamela.”   
  
Eric's head whips in her direction so quickly that the motion itself isn't visible. And while his smile holds the adoration of a maker for his progeny… his eyes flash a warning, too subtle for the Slayer to catch.   
  
He hopes.   
  
“This is Buffy. The Vampire Slayer.”   
  
He adds the title in an afterthought, and his gaze flicks back to his date.   
  
“Buffy, this is Pam. My Progeny and co-owner of the Fangtasia chain.”


	3. Practically Pavlovian Blush would be a great band name.

It's been a wild few minutes.

Buffy’s barely finished trying to contain her practically Pavlovian blush and shiver reaction to Eric's comment - it's so not fair how certain words in certain people's mouths can make a girl feel… certainly uncertain - when the unliving and unbreathing embodiment of Sex B-bomb joins them.

The woman's casual, almost Cordelian tactless possessiveness sets Buffy's nerves on edge, and she has to concentrate on not squeezing her wine glass to smithereens.

“It's, um, nice to meet you...Pam. So, progeny...that means you...you're...?”

“...That we fucked, then he turned me? Yes, we're that. Eric, I hope she doesn't taste as stupid as she sounds.” Pam drawled, her eyes shifting to her maker.

“No biting.”

Eric leans back in his seat, not bothering to hide his amusement at the scene. He's not sure if he should be concerned and for who. He trusts in Pam's strength...but Buffy is the Slayer. And he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath of any fight they might get into.

Especially since, if push came to shove, he knows who he'd side with.

“Buffy is my personal guest at Fangtasia, tonight, and it would be in all of our best interest to treat her as such. Wouldn't you agree?”

That's her final, unspoken warning.

“As for your question, Buffy, yes. Pam is my Childe.”

Pam rolls her eyes, and sighs deeply, if unnecessarily.

“Yes...master. Buffy, welcome to Fangtasia. I hope you enjoy your visit, and come back soon...y'hear.”

Her speech is a monotone, drier than the Sahara, and she vamp speeds out of the booth and back into the crowd, leaving Buffy staring after her.

“She...seems nice... “ Buffy watches as Pam disappears, then turns her attention back to Eric. She arches one eyebrow at his apparent amusement. “Any more kids who might have issues with Daddy dating someone new?”

Eric shakes his head, staring off in the direction that Pam disappeared. She's going to be irritated with him, he can tell, but that's something to be dealt with later.

Much later.

“No. There is only Pam. I've been rightly choosy about who I turn. There are those who feel inclined to bite anyone who shows the slightest bit of promise and bring them into this life, but I've never thought of myself as patient enough to guide more than one. There's no way to accurately describe the bond between a maker and their childe. And it goes without saying that Pam doesn't play well with others. I'm not sure she'd appreciate having a sibling. Besides...I've never felt the need for anyone but her to carry on the legacy.”

Eric turns his gaze back to Buffy.

“Enough about that. Do you want something else to drink? Or, if this place is not to your tastes, we could leave. I'd hate to think that you’re not enjoying our date.”

Buffy looks at her wine glass, surprised to find it empty.

“No, I'm...I am enjoying our date. It's been very educational.” She grins at him, a lock of hair falling coquettishly over one eye. “I’m really into the learning of things.”

“Well, if that's what you like as foreplay…”

Eric leans forward, a bit, tilting his head just so that he can look up at her through his lashes. And, for a second, he's curious is compulsion would work on her. Though, not so foolhardy as to think to actually attempt it. At least, not without mentioning it to her, first.

“Then ask me a question. I'd be happy to teach you some more.”

“I, um…”

She blushes for the umpteenth time, and wonders if he can feel the heat on her face from across the booth.

“I...um...my mind is a complete...blank...right now..”

“You're face to face with a vampire, of which the likes you've never seen and who has lived a thousand years...and you can't think of a single question? I'm surprised.”

He leans back, again, his eyes gleaming.

“Most breathers have endless questions. But, if it's not conversation you're after...why don't we do something else?”

“I have questions! I have loads of questions! I...just can't think of any right at this moment...for reasons...But, um, what something did you have in mind?”

“Well, we could dance.”

  
Eric nods his head over to the dance floor, where most of the fangbangers had finally congregated, gyrating in a rhythmless fashion in the hopes to catch the attention of one of the many beautiful faces that loomed in the shadows.

“This is, after all, a nightclub.”

Buffy feigns disappointment.

“I guess it is too dim in here for a good game of parchisi… Dancing it is, then.”

She flashes a grin as she slips out from the booth and peels off her jacket. Her pale arms almost glow in the black light, and as she tosses her jacket onto her seat, she makes a mental note to find a tanning bed - London has totally faded her California Girl tan.

She pulls the hem of her sleeveless sweater into place, and saunters towards the dance floor, not looking behind to see if Eric is following her. She takes a deep breath, and forces herself to partition off her screaming slayer senses and lock them away, just for a little while.

The music shifts to a more sensual sound, the throbbing back beat just slightly slower than the previous few songs, and she relaxes into the rhythm.

Eric does follow her to the dance floor, but he hangs back for a moment to watch her, slightly intrigued. He's seen enough humans to know, roughly, what sort of dancing is seen as "fashionable", these days… but somehow, she makes those strange, writhing movements look good. She turns around as she pulls the pin from her hair, and shakes her head to scatter her golden locks across her shoulders. She pockets the pin before looking for Eric, and beckons him over with a crooked finger.

Eric steps forward, reaching out and grabbing her by the hand that she beckons him with so that he can pull her against his body. Her skin practically gives off heat and he can feel her blood pulsing through her veins.

“Dansa med mig.” He croons in her ear. And he starts to sway with her to the music, so that she doesn't have to ask him to translate his request.

Despite the difference in height, her body fits neatly against his, and they move fluidly around the dance floor. She rests her flushed face against his cool chest and closes her eyes, trusting him to lead her safely between the other dancing couples.

“What language is that?”

“Min fars språk. Språket i min familj. Språket i min värld.”He murmurs, more to himself than to her, and easily guides them past a couple of humans, who stare enviously where Buffy is pressed against him. They must have assumed he's fed off of her, because her eyes are closed. That thought amuses him.

In English, he says-

“Swedish. You didn't suppose that English was my native language?”

Buffy opens her eyes and smiles at him with rueful apology.

“I'm American. I assume English is everybody's native language…”

Buffy's almost preternaturally aware of the stares and glares she's getting from other patrons of the club, and finally starts to really understand just how big of a deal her date is in his world.

She's used to being the big fish in the pond, on both sides of the Atlantic, but here, in Fangtasia, she's just a very lucky girl dancing with the big fish. It's...kinda nifty.

She presses a little closer against him. Just because.

“You're very old, right? Did Sweden even have Ikea back then?”

“It so happens that I predate both Ikea and America. I was born in Sweden in the year 900 AD and I was made immortal in 930. I've walked this earth for over 1,000 years. 1,118 years, if we're being faultlessly precise.”

He grins. It's quite an accomplishment, even for ones of his nature, who reasonably should exist well past his age. His own maker, Godric, lived for far longer.

“Wow.” Her eyes grow wide. “That's majorly impressive. You've literally seen most of recorded human history, and I still can't cope with the fact I went to High School pre-cell phones.”

“...Humans don't change much. Their surroundings shift, they make advances in language, art, and medicine. But they never seem to advance alongside it.” Eric says, as one song shifts into another. “History repeats itself over and over. There's really not much to see that you haven't witnessed in another form already after the first hundred years. Though, I won't argue with you about cell phones. Those are quite useful.”

Buffy laughs softly.

“I'm not sure if that's the most hopeful or most depressing thing I've ever heard… Hey, what's your favorite thing about the 21st Century?”

She notices that the new song has a faster beat, but they're still dancing close together, slow-song style...and has no desire to change that.

“...The internet has proved itself to be incredibly useful, in more ways than one.”

He decides, after a moment. He values the ability to be sent an email from any vampire royalty he may have pissed off, rather than being surprised by guards who have come to drag him off someplace and question him about mundane issues that he doesn't know anything about.

“Fangtasia is heavily reliant on digital marketing. Keeps business...alive.”

“Ha. So to speak.” Buffy grins. “Yeah, I guess penicillin wouldn't be a big deal to the already technically dead, huh?”

She starts to ask another question when a hand grips her shoulder and pulls her away from Eric. The fangbanger, a heavily made-up young woman whose very low-cut bustier reveals rows of bite-marks in various stages of healing, glares at Buffy before simpering at Eric.

"C'mon, it's no fair fer one out o' towner ta keep ye from yer fans, Master Eric. I missed ye las' weekend. Care ta make up fer th' lost time?"

“Go away.”

  
Eric doesn't even look at the human, his tone even. But his eyes betray his irritation. This...this right here is why he doesn't bring anyone back to the bar. The thing about not killing the humans that you fed on, meant that they could come back and intrude on private moments.

If he had a dollar for every time one of Pam's choice fools threw themselves between him and her when they having a conversation. Never a smart idea.

“Aww, c'mon, Eric...jes' a lil bite...we c'n go back in yer office, like...only take a few minutes..."

The fangbanger takes Eric's hand in hers, her black manicure stark against the paleness of his skin, and she tries to pull him towards the back of the club.

Buffy steps back, her arms crossed, her face a mixture of contempt and curiosity.*

“...Just a little bite?”

Eric moves too quickly to be seen, his motions a blur, but as soon as he's visible, again, he has the fangbanger by the shoulders and pinned against the nearest wall, his gaze boring into hers.

He speaks slowly. Melodically. Compelling her to hear every word and heed everything he says.

“You don't want me to bite you. In fact, you don't want to be in the same room as me. Every time you see my face, you feel the need to turn around and run in the opposite direction.”

He lets go of her and steps back, watching as her face shifts from dazed to confused, to terrified. She turns and, as directed, silently runs away from him and disappears into the crowd.

Eric turns back to Buffy, deeply irritated that they had been interrupted...but also slightly grateful. He'd been giving too much of himself away in that conversation. He had a clearer head, now.

“...I suppose you want an explanation for that?”

Buffy reaches Eric just as the fangbanger turns to run like mad into the crowd and she slowly nods her head, more concerned about the other woman's reaction to whatever Eric said than even with how quickly and forcefully he propelled her across the room.

She frowns, her guard firmly back in place, her tone wary.

“Yeah, I think I really do.”

All too aware of the crowd that's slowly closing in on them, trying to eavesdrop on what he's saying, Eric silently directs Buffy back to his private booth, where they can talk in a slightly quieter atmosphere.

He slides in on one side and waits for her to sit beside him. Assuming that she does without being difficult. He's not sure what to expect from her. She follows him back to the booth, her arms crossed, and annoyed that the fun and casual intimacy that had been building between them was so easily shattered by one stupid incident, but she pauses by the booth, unsure of whether to sit beside him or join her jacket on the bench across the table from him.

Biting her bottom lip she makes her decision...

...and slides into the booth beside him.

She places her fingers around the stem of her refilled wine glass, but makes no move to sip from it. Who knows what besides wine could've been added to it while they were dancing? Still, fiddling with the glass makes for a perfectly acceptable distraction.

“So. What gives?”

“Buffy, you do know why clubs like Fangtasia exist, don't you?”

Eric asks, idly shredding a napkin into confetti, to give his hands something to do. It's not as satisfying as he imagines it would be to tear that insufferable breather apart for ruining his moment with the Slayer, but it's enough to keep his tone level.

And, though he's sure that she DOES know why Fangtasia is here, he continues speaking anyway.

“Fangtasia offers a unique experience for vampires and human alike. Humans can stare and flirt with death, and vampires can meet breathers who not only consent but expect to be fed on. The comfort and safety of both is demanded and the punishment for endangering either party is severe. I've fed on a few people while I was here. Obviously, I've killed no one. Because they survived, they tend to get clingy. Though I remember very little of my own turning, I am assured that the rush that comes with being fed on is considered a sexual thrill.”

He grins, then. It never ceases to amaze him that there are humans who demand to be bitten. Not after the many years he'd walked this Earth as Death itself.

“That...creature was one of the ones that I fed on. Only once. She was very irritating. Even before tonight.”

Her hand automatically rises protectively at the mention of biting, hiding the scar on the side of her neck from his view. Her lips purse sourly at his mention of naughty tingles. All she remembers is the pain of having her very flesh torn by teeth, and her life literally being sucked out the wound. So not her idea of foreplay, and this time, she's gonna let the kink-shaming stand, unapologetically.

She turns to look him in the eyes, her expression dark.

“Yeah, yeah, I've read the brochure. And we BOTH know that's not what needed an explanation in this particular sitch, so spill. Why did your hanger-on suddenly unhang?”

“She left because I told her to.”

That's one question that he hadn't been expecting. He'd been sure that her obvious disgruntlement had been with the talk of biting, itself. Why would she care why the woman had left?

“Why does it matter why she went? I don't know about you, but I didn't want her around.”

But Buffy says nothing. Only stares at him steadily, waiting for something. And Eric stares back just as steadily, Only, unlike the Slayer, he has no idea what the fuck she's waiting to hear. It is exactly as he said. He told her to go, and the human did.

“...Are you hoping I'll tell you exactly what I told her?”

“Yes.” Buffy said, simply.

“...Ah.”

  
Eric leans closer to Buffy, no longer as irritated as he was just a few seconds before. It's impossible to be. With the way that her bottom lip juts out in that fierce scowl and the way she says "yes" like his words are either the beginning or the end of everything. It's strange to see such a small, bright creature look so intense.

“I told her that she doesn't want me to bite her. I told her that she doesn't even want to be in the same room as me and that every time she sees my face, she'll feel the need to turn around and run in the opposite direction. Not my cleverest work, but under the circumstances…”

“But that doesn't make sense. She so wanted you to bite her, how did you just saying she didn't want to totally change her mind?”

An awful, niggling fear prickled the corners of Buffy’s mind, but she doesn't want to give those feelings the power that naming them would. Not unless he does, first.

“What do you mean by "cleverest work?" What work?”

“I glamoured her. Obviously.”

Buffy’s stare turns to a glare, and she shifts away, irritated at how he can be so simultaneously attractive and infuriating.

“Not so obvious to me. Glamoured? Like...hypnotized?”

Eric grimaces. Hypnotized doesn't feel like the right word, but he can't think of a better way to explain it to her. So, finally, he nods.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Something like that. Nice.” Buffy’s tone could freeze water and she shifts further away from him, to the edge of the booth, wondering if holy water has any effect on this kind of vampire. “Do all of you have the mind-control mojo?”

“Yes. It's part of who we are and how we protect ourselves. Humans outnumber us 1,000 to 1 and not all those who know of our existence are friendly. I don't suppose you know any drainers.”

Eric taps his fingers against the table. The sound doesn’t do anything to soothe Buffy.

“Drainers? I don't even know what that is. I stake first, dust bust later, and don't worry about questions.”

She stands up and grabs for her jacket.

“Speaking of questions, why am I even here?”

“You're here because you wanted to know more about my kind. At least, that's what you told me when we agreed to this...date. And knowing about my kind is learning the little details that you wish you hadn't.”

Eric remains where he is. He won't stop her from leaving if she wants to go...but he does think she'll change her mind.}

“Drainers, Buffy, are the humans who follow stalk my kind. They lure a vampire out and then they chain them and siphon their blood. I told you it was valuable. Vial after vial, until the vampire is too weak to move. And then they either stake the vampire or leave them for the sun. The true death is a very serious occurrence for my kind, who rarely kill the humans they're feeding on.”

Buffy stands for what feels like forever.

Being called out on your own bad behavior, especially by someone you kinda want to like and definitely want to like you even if you don't entirely know why you want that, hurts.

If your reflex reaction to being hurt is to lash out with violence, and you're really working on it but still have issues with the non-violence part, containing that reflex is a job of work.

She grits her teeth and sits, across the table this time, and on the edge of the banquette bench, in case she changes her mind.

“You're right. I did. I'm...sorry. Draining sounds awful.”

It is. I am so fortunate that it's never happened to me, personally. Of course, if it had, I wouldn't be here.

Eric smiles when she sits back down, happy even if she is not on the same side with him anymore. Little victories. And Buffy nods to agree with the sentiment, but isn't close to smiling, yet.

  
“The mind control thing, though. That's also awful. Have...have you glamoured me?”

“No.” His response is immediate and cool. “I'm not even sure if it would work on you. Being as there is a small part of you that is demonic...there are certain people outside of our reach.”

“Like who?”

Buffy casts her glance around the room, and frowns at the crowds of people who seemed to take her almost leaving as open invitation to converge on Eric's booth.

“Human people, or actual demons...or both?”

“I've encountered it with those who have faerie blood in their veins...hybrid creatures, too. Shifters are not above our pull, but other types of demon can resist.” Eric counts it off, his gaze darting in the direction of the Breathers who are slowly inching over in their direction. “I've grown tired of this place. Why don't we take a walk?”

She jumps up from the booth at his suggestion, startling the inner-ring of would-be hangers-on, and shrugs into her jacket.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

Eric rises too, smoothly, and one baleful glare from him is all it takes to make the crowd part and get out of his way. He gestures to the divide between openly loathing fang-bangers.

“After you.”

She doesn't wait for him to say it twice. Buffy charges through the crowd, past the bar, and out the door of the club, not stopping until she's several yards away from the club and well into the parking lot. She tilts her head back and takes a deep breath of the fresh night air. The crescent moon is just visible above the treeline, but the stars are blotted from the sky by city glow.

She brushes a stray strand of hair back from her face, and waits for Eric to join her. He steps out just a few moments later, after directing Pam to keep an eye on things in his absence. He stalks across the parking lot to meet her, stopping just a few feet away from her.

“I don't suppose you have anywhere in particular that you want to walk to?”

She stuffs her hands into her jacket pocket as she turns and steps towards him.*

“I don't really know this area too well...is there a cemetery that could use some patrolling?”

“Yes.” He instinctively turns his head in the direction of the cemetery. He hasn't been there, himself, but it's never a bad idea for a vampire to know where the nearest one is. “Just a few blocks down that way.”

“Well. Allons-y.” 


	4. Drowning After a Vampire Bite would be a great name for a band.

Buffy starts walking down the drive, turns in the direction of his nod, and waits for him to draw abreast of her. By that, she means start walking beside her.

“Are you always in such high demand at Fangtasia? How do you cope?”

Eric turns his head to give Buffy a deadpan stare, his fangs popping out to peek out past his upper lip. He grins and it's a menacing smile.

“I don't think much of it. Very few of them ever stand closer than three feet away. They may not understand the danger I pose to them -- they may even find it exciting, but they know which line not to cross. Well, most of them do. There are those without self-preservation.”

Buffy snickers at his expression. There's something about his long-suffering stare...he's almost adorable in his low-key exasperation.

“And the ones who lack that sense of self-preservation? What happens to them?”

“They're removed.” His expression and tone darkens. “You can't ever trust anyone who doesn't have a healthy sense of self-preservation. That means they value whatever they're trying to get from you more than their own life. Maybe it means they intend to force me to change them, maybe it means that they're trying to get my blood. I don't give them a chance to tell me.”

Buffy glances at him from the corner of her eye as his tone changes, then nods.

“Seems fair.”

A beat of silence, and then...

“...I've died before.”

“...What?”

Eric stops walking and Buffy takes a few steps before realizing he had stopped. She turns and walks back to him, childishly pleased she'd gotten such a reaction from him.

“I died. I came back.” She shrugs, no big deal. “Twice.”

“...Twice?”

Eric steps forward, closing the space between them. He grabs her by her shoulders, his gaze boring down into hers.  
  
“How?”

“Um...job hazard?”

The way he's staring at her so intently...it's both unsettling and...well, unsettling but with a good connotation.

“First time was drowning after a vampire bite - there was this whole prophecy thing, long story - and a friend did CPR. The second time...was to save the world. That was...much longer. 

She can't meet his eyes, the memory of all she sacrificed, and what she was forced to give up, even after all this time, all these years of living...it's still just this side of too much to bear.  
  
“But was all a long time ago. I have no intention of hitting number three for years and years, yet.”

Eric lets go of her like her skin's burned him, and he takes a step back away from her. It's...unsettling to hear her talk about dying in such a way. It brings back bitter memories of his own death and a strange longing to have come back as human. 

He's never regretted his choice...but then, he'd never had any other option.  
  
“I see.”   
  
He starts walking again, disturbed by his own reaction.   
  
“My death was a little less complicated than that.”

She can't lie to herself about how much it hurts that he let go of her like he suddenly realized she was toxic waste, but she's sure as hell not going to let him know about it.

She keeps pace with him, which is slightly challenging, as his legs are twice as long as hers.  
  
“They sucked your blood, you sucked theirs? It's the age-old story.”

“Almost.”

He says, quietly, trying to shake off the feeling of...aggravation that's taken hold of him. There's not a minute of his immortal life that he'd trade for four hundred years the other way, but no matter what else faded with time, the memories of his family never went and it still chills him.  
  
“I was once man, Buffy. A Viking. There are so many things about my time as a mortal man that I can no longer remember, but even more that I've managed to hold onto. Death was not the end, but it wasn't the beginning, either.”   
  
There's no delicate way to phrase it, so he speaks bluntly.   
  
“My family was slaughtered. My mother and my baby sister were ripped to shreds by the teeth of werewolves and they gravely injured my father. He died not hours after. I sought to avenge him and as the new King I thought it would be easy. After all, I had many warriors at my disposal. But I was injured during my search for the creatures who destroyed my family. My maker came for me that night. He killed my comrades and just when I thought I would be next, he offered me a choice. Death or eternal life. You can see clearly which I chose.”

Buffy can feel the pain in his voice in her bones. Having lived through unimaginable horrors herself, she's still staggered by the awfulness of his story.

She has the almost overwhelming urge to comfort him, to hug him, or something, but also gets the feeling that such a gesture would be seen as pity, and that's so not how she means it. Instead, she gently bumps his arm with her elbow.  
  
“Doesn't seem like you really had a choice at all.”

“I had a choice. Valhalla was waiting for me, and I knew I had earned my place there. But I chose to forsake it all. I don't regret it, if that's what you think. Without Godric, I would have never experienced many things. I would have never met Pam. Or you, for that matter. “

He grins, then, pushing aside those troubling thoughts. His family could have never survived. He knows that. 

“And wouldn't that have been a sore loss for you?”

“The sorest, ever.”

Buffy can't help but return his grin, and she really can't help grabbing him by the sleeve, rising up on her tiptoes, and pressing a soft kiss to his smiling lips. And, faster than anyone's eyes could follow, Eric's hands are tangled in her hair and he has her pressed up against the wall of the nearest building, returning her soft kiss with a passion that can only be built up by 1,000 years of unlife.  
  
He's never been ashamed to admit when he's eager for something, and now is no exception to that.

His kissing leaves Buffy breathless, or maybe it's how tightly his body is pressing against hers. Either way, she pulls back long enough to gasp, then dives back into his kiss, her hands caressing his angular face, and grasping his hair. Eric lifts her up, supporting her ass with one hand while his other goes to her leg and pulls it up to his hips, opening her to him enough for his body to rest comfortably against hers. His teeth - still blunt - nip at her bottom lip. Buffy wraps her legs around his waist, and moans softly, partly because his body feels so good against hers, and partly in relief that she no longer has to crane her neck to kiss him.

She takes advantage of the brief lull to catch her breath, which she quickly loses again as he nibbles on her lip. She licks at his blunt teeth, half curious, half apprehensive, about his fangs. Eric breaks their kiss, but only so his fangs can pop out without surprising or injuring her and he grins at her with an expression of faux innocence.  
  
“...No biting?”

“I didn't say that...yet…”

She shifts her hand towards his mouth, and gently traces his fangs with her fingertips. Something about his scent, his taste, makes her feel reckless, and she's loathe to take anything off the table.

“It doesn't hurt the way I do it.”

He doesn't make a move to try it, but they're not going anywhere. Fighting, fucking, and feeding are too closely intertwined in his nature.  
  
“But if you want to bite me first...well, I won't stop you.”

“...Biting wasn't the first thing on my list, but I will keep your offer in mind…”

Buffy flashes a grin before leaning in to kiss him again, her tongue tracing his fangs in place of her fingers. She groans and rolls her hips against his, her thighs squeezing his waist. Eric moves one hand up from where it was resting against her thigh to cup her breast through her shirt, feeling the urge to rip through the delicate fabric and expose her flesh to him. It wouldn't take more than the flick of his wrist...His hand is cold, and Buffy gasps to feel him holding her breast, even through her sweater and bra. She desperately wants to feel his flesh on hers, but...on a first date?

Eric can feel her hesitate against his kiss and, inwardly, growls. But, stubbornly, refuses to give way and his kiss becomes more urgent. Buffy nearly gives in, right then and there, but an owl flying by, hooting softly as it hunts, snaps her back to the reality of being out in public.

If she were in a skirt, that would be one thing, but leather trousers are quite another.

“Can we go someplace...indoors? Private? ...Now?”

Eric pulls her away from the wall, none too gently, and shifts her in his arms so that he's holding her bridal style, too impatient to move at a human pace. He runs to a nearby building that's been boarded up and deserted, breaking through the plywood with ease.  It's dark and a little cold inside, but it should serve as enough of a barrier between them and anyone passing by.

Buffy wraps her arms around his neck and presses hot kisses along his jaw and throat as he carries her away. Once inside the abandoned building, she shrugs off the faint whisper of deja vu as quickly as she shrugs out of her jacket, and pulls his face towards hers for more kissing.

“Eric.”

He picks her back up so he doesn't have to bend so far over and he tilts his head to kiss her neck, groaning when he can feel the blood pumping underneath her skin. She gasps and rolls her head back, offering him more of the smooth expanse of her throat. The thrill of the tease sends a hot flush to her cheeks, and between her legs, and she whimpers. Eric sets her down and reaches down between their bodies, fumbling with the zipper of her pants. He growls when peeling them off of her body takes more work than just tearing them off would but manages not to destroy them while also never moving his mouth from her throat.

Buffy does her best to help wriggle out of her leather trousers and kicks them to the side as soon as they clear her feet. She pushes him back, and pauses for just a moment to appreciate the exquisite tension. Then she grins and pulls her sweater off over her head. Standing before him in just her black lace bra and panties, and ankle-high boots, she waits to see what he'll do.

Eric is by her side, again, in a flash of movement, his hands caressing every inch of exposed skin that he can reach while his mouth comes crashing down against hers, again. Every part of his being aches to have her and he's not going to hold back now. Buffy holds his face in her hands and kisses him back hungrily, needing this, needing him more than she's needed anything in ages. With a low whine, she grips his shoulders and uses that as leverage to once again wrap her legs around his waist.

His pants take much less work to unbutton and push down, partially because he wouldn't mind if they were torn. His lips move back to her throat as he pushes her against the nearest wall to help him keep her upright. 

His fangs press against the delicate skin of her throat.

Buffy pulls his teeth away from her throat, firmly but gently, and looks into his eyes. She's trembling with how much she wants him, but some lines cannot be crossed so casually.*

“Not that, Eric. Not yet.”

He grimaces, but his frenzied desire for her is great enough that he doesn't risk pushing her on it. Instead, he reaches between their bodies and rips her panties off. 

He holds the fabric up.

“I hope you didn't love these.”

She grabs her trashed la Perla panties and tosses them away, over his shoulder.

“I did, but I'll just have to mourn their sacrifice later.”

“They died valiantly,” He agrees, tilting his head forward to suck her bottom lip between his teeth.

“We...can't let their sacrifice be in vain…” She runs her fingers through his hair and licks his upper lip. “That would be tragic.”

“Truly.”

Tired of the inane conversation, he silences her again with another fierce kiss and feels her up through the skimpy lace of her bra. Buffy nimbly clicks the front fastener of the bra and releases the clasp. Shrugging her shoulders, it falls to the dirty floor, and she shivers to be completely bare before him. Eric breaks their kiss, craning his head so he can get a good look at her newly bared skin. He sets her down, pulling her away from the wall and pulls off his shirt, setting it down against the ground, next to his pants. It's not the most comfortable spread, but it should shield her from the grime on the floor and he lays her down on top of his clothes.

“Mmm...so gallant…”

She murmurs as he gently lies her back onto his clothing, and her eyes widen as she traces her gaze over his body. He's so lean, she can see the shape of every muscle beneath skin so pale it nearly glows in the very dim light. She sits up to run her hands over his flesh, and whimpers in anticipation of feeling his cool skin against her own burning body. Eric lays himself over her, parting her legs with his knee. He bows his head, his mouth finding her breast while his soft, blonde hair brushes against her nose when he traces his tongue around her nipple.

She leans forward to reach between his legs and groans when she can barely get her hand around his girth. His flesh is cool and smooth velvet over a rock-hard core, and she eagerly begins to stroke him. Eric forces his fangs to retract so he can nip at her breast with his blunt teeth and avoid breaking her "no biting" rule. His hips rock, eagerly moving against her hand.

“Oh, god, Eric!”

She hisses as he nips her tender skin, just hard enough to hurt in just the right way. She pumps her fist a bit faster and hooks her feet around the backs of his legs, her body literally aching to feel him inside.

Eric kisses his way to her other breast,  tracing his tongue around the edge of her puckering nipple. One of his hands grips her hip, hard enough to leave bruises. Buffy lifts her hips and guides him towards her, little keening pleas pouring from her lips.

“Eric, please, I need you, please, Eric, I can't...Eric, please!”

Eric lifts his head and gazes into her eyes as he slides the head of his cock up and down the slit of her heat. Then, just when he can't wait any longer, he thrusts inside of her. Her cry echoes in the abandoned building, and her body rises to meet his, urging him deeper. She grabs his hair in both hands and pulls him into a furious kiss as she wraps her legs around his waist and flexes her muscles around him.

Eric rocks his hips against hers and he takes her bottom lip between his teeth, biting softly. 

There's really nothing in all the world quite like fucking a human, but Buffy is on a level all her own. She has muscles he's never _dreamed_ of and he hisses against her mouth.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Yes. Do that. Only…” She squeezes internal muscles around him. “...Harder. I'm not gonna break.”

“We'll see.”

He taunts, but his hips move faster and harder against hers anyway. That's another thrill of fucking a Slayer, he'd guess-- they're not as easy to damage as most mortals.

Buffy grips his sides with her knees and flips them over, taking control. She holds both his hands over his head and tosses her hair out of both their faces.

“We'll see? The hell we will…”  
  
She lowers her head to kiss him fiercely as she rides him hard.

Eric's astonished. 

He's never had anyone -- least of all anyone mortal -- suddenly take control over him, like this. But there's no time to be offended or delighted, because she's riding him like he's a prize racehorse and all he can think is "Fuck!!!!" while she does.   
  
His hands rest on her hips and he bucks up, furiously, against her. His fangs pop back out and he catches her lower lip with them, just hard enough for him to taste the faintest trace of her blood.

“No.”  
  
Buffy sits up, and wipes at her lip with her fingertips. Only the tiniest drop stains her finger, and she quickly licks it clean.   
  
“This is your only warning, Eric.”

“It wasn't intentional.”

That's as close as an apology as she'll get and he picks them both up, running them over to the nearest wall and holding her against it while he mercilessly fucks her into it.

“Don't. Care.” She groans and grabs at the wall behind her, searching out a handhold for bracing purposes. “One. Warning. Oh!” 

Without warning, she cums hard around him, her body pulsing with exquisite tension.

“Yes ma'am.”

He lowers his head and nips at her breast, NOT hard enough to draw blood. He can feel her hands scrabbling against the wall for something to grab, but he doesn't care that there's nothing to grab.  
  
And then she swears in that husky voice of hers and cums around him and he has to yank his head back away from her to keep from biting down.   
  
Women and their rules.

“Oh...goddess...yes!” Buffy gasps as the waves of pleasure roll through her, but instead of feeling anywhere near sated...she only wants more. She gives up on grabbing the wall to wrap her arms around Eric's neck, and nips at his earlobe. “So good...want more...please?”

Eric's answering laugh makes his chest rumble and he pulls her away from the wall to set her back down against the clothes he laid out. He pulls out of her, but only for a moment, so he can flip her onto her hands and knees and take her again in a more favourable position.

Buffy rises up on her knees and curls one arm around his neck. The need to kiss him is way stronger than the need to protect her knees from the rubble on the ground, and she attacks his mouth hungrily.

Eric returns her kiss with the same feverish desire, one hand propping him upright while the other goes to her freely swinging breasts and cups them. She moans against his mouth and reaches behind with her free hand to grab his ass, and pulls him tighter against her before falling forward onto both her hands again. She wriggles her own bottom in a manner she hopes is enticing.

Consider him enticed. He lets go of her breasts, but only to grab onto her hips again as leverage to rock himself in and out of her.

“Yes! Eric, that! More that! Oh!”

She rises up on her toes as she bends her elbows, increasing the slope of her back until the angle is so, so perfect. He's more than happy to oblige, a growl making his chest rumble as he quickens his pace and chases his own release. Her legs quiver from both strain and anticipation of climax, and it's all she can do to keep her face from hitting the broken concrete floor as Eric fucks her into near oblivion. And Eric doesn't stop until he climaxes and it's only then that he goes completely tense and still, cumming inside of her with an animalistic growl that echoes in the otherwise desolate building.

She feels his rhythm change a moment before his wild growl announces his climax, and her own guttural cries of pleasure join his as she cums again, harder and longer, even, than before. Eric pulls out when her body stops pulsing around him and leisurely tosses himself down onto the ground beside her, unbothered by the broken concrete underneath him.

“That was…”

Breathless but just barely breaking a sweat, Buffy rolls over to wrap an arm across his chest.

“...A great start?”

“I was going to say the fuck of champions but a good start works too.”

“I said great, not good.”

Eric laughs at her affronted correction. “Alright, great.”

“And… what about the start, part?”

“Just tell me when you're ready for round two. I’m feeling lucky.”

Eric lazily trails his fingertips up and down her stomach, always restarting the loop just a few, precious centimeters from her breasts, physically taunting her. A small, petty payback for her not allowing him to do the one thing a vampire was created to do and _bite_. It's just not the same without the rush of blood pouring into his mouth.

“And you're about to get luckier, cause-”

A fleeting shadow catches her attention, and Buffy squints over his shoulder. A second scurrying shadow confirms that she's seeing rodents, not demons, but she's none to thrilled about the rats.   
  
With a shudder, she rises to her feet and reaches down for his hand to help him up.   
  
“Can we move round two to a less-infested venue, though?”

“If we must.”

Eric says, with a faux sigh. He allows her to help him up, however and gathers his clothes from the floor. A flick of his wrist shakes the dust from them and he begins dressing.  
  
“Of course, you can't walk out like that and not expect the creatures of the night to leave you un-ravaged.”   
  
He nods his head in the direction of her own, discarded clothes. The scraps of lace that were once her panties aren't salvageable by any means and it amuses him that she'll have to go without.

Buffy rolls her eyes as she searches for her clothing.

“I only have eyes for one, particular creature of the night for ravaging purposes, thank you.”  
  
She slips back into her leather pants, keenly aware of how they fit her without any panties. Tossing caution to the wind, she also forgoes her bra, and just pulls her sweater on over her head. She puts on her jacket, tucks both her bra and her ruined panties into a pocket, and shakes out her hair.

“Who is he? I'll kill him.”

He grins over at her, letting his eyes trail down her body a little wistfully before he holds out his hand to her.  
  
“I could carry you back out of the building if you wanted. End it the way we started.”

“Nuh-uh. So not ready for anything ending, right now.”

She takes his hand and steps in close to kiss him.

She pulls away long before she really wants to and starts walking gingerly over the rubble.


End file.
